Page 3 of Inked & Bloodbound

"Hey, pretty boy," he snarls, puffing out his pigeon chest. "You talking to my girl? I'll kick your ass."

I turn to face him fully, and the air shifts between us. I let my mask slip just a fraction—not enough for him to understand what he's seeing, but enough for his lizard brain to recognize the predator standing in front of him. I let the monster I keep caged out for a moment.

The change is instantaneous. His eyes widen, pupils swelling with pure, primal fear. His body goes rigid, frozen like prey in the presence of a thing that could tear him apart.

Even in a weakened state, with my powers diminishing by the day, I can still pour myself into the cracks of his mind. I can reach into his head and bend him to my will.

I can make him feel whatever the hell I want.

Confident. Fearful. Playful. Powerful.

Even safe.

Safe enough to beg me to drain him.

His legs shake in place, feet planted to the floor with sweat beading at his hairline. His breath grows shallow. I hold him there for a moment, enjoying the power, then I release the grip I have over his emotions.

His fear dissipates, and he blinks slowly, shaking his head like he's trying to clear a fog. "S-sorry," he mumbles, stepping back. "I thought you were... Never mind."

I flash him a megawatt smile, exposing my glistening incisors, and force a southern twang. "Hey, no problem, buddy. Y'all have a good night now."

He clutches the waist of the blonde like he's about to fall, his bloodshot eyes searching for answers that will never come.

2

LILY

“Give it to me straight. Am I dying?”

My best friend, Dr. Kate Ross, holds up a film to the light and squints. Her perfectly coiffed head is cocked to the side as she purses her lips in concentration. She flips back and forth between images of my brain while I gnaw at the edges of my nails. I’ve been putting these tests off for months, but now that the results are here, I’m a mess.

She exhales heavily and turns to face me. “No, Lily. You’re still not dying. At least, you’re not dying any time soon. There’s nothing nefarious happening in your brain.”

My shoulders sag with relief, but the comfort is short-lived. Months of agony and worry. Months of pain and sleepless nights. And there’s nothing? A diagnosis I could deal with. A disease I could treat, but this? My heart sinks at the realization.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Can you check again?”

She hands the MRI images back to me with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure, Lil. I’m not a head specialist, but I can’t see anything. No tumors, no aneurysms, no obvious structural abnormalities. There’s a little section right here”—she points a manicured finger—"that tells me you’re not a natural blonde. Oh, and this part right here shows youhave questionable taste in shoes and men, but other than that you’re normal. Well, normal-ish."

She cackles as I drop my weary head into my hands. “Ha. Fucking. Ha. Very funny. And just because I get highlights doesn’t mean I’m not a natural blonde.”

She winks. “If you say so. Anyway, I’m telling you. It looks fine, great even. What did your neuro guy say?”

“The same thing you said,” I mumble. “But if there’s nothing there, then why am I in so much pain? It’s like someone’s hammering nails through my eye sockets. It’s only getting worse, and it’s happening every day.” My voice wobbles. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

I shift uncomfortably against the stiff plastic chair and drop my head between my knees. The dark reading room, the place we go to look at x-rays, but also where we escape to gossip, suddenly feels tiny. It’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out. The low hum of machines buzzes through the silence.

Kate shuffles over and drapes an arm around me. She says she hates physical affection because she’s British, so I know she must really care about me when she offers a clumsy side hug,

She furrows her brow as hot tears well in the corners of my eyes. “Darling, have you considered this might all be stress-related? You’re dealing with a lot right now with it being your mum’s anniversary and all. When was the last time you had a break? A proper one?”

I sniff. “I don’t know, a few months? Maybe six? But…I like staying busy, y’know. I enjoy helping people, otherwise I don’t know what I’m good for.”

“I know, love,” she soothes, patting me on the back. “And I know you believe you’re responsible for every lost and broken thing that comes your way, but you’re not. You’re just a nurse, for Christ’s sake, not a bloody saint. Enough’s enough, Mother Teresa. You need a vacation. I say book a flight right now and go somewhere exotic and fall in love with a tanned cabana boy.”

My face cracks into a reluctant smile. Typical of Kate—the British doctor who came to Texas and married a cowboy on a whim—tosuggest something so reckless. She once suggested I buy a horse after a run of bad boyfriends, so this feels like familiar territory.

“I was thinking about driving down to San Antonio to see my stepdad and spend some time with him for Mom’s thing, but I don’t know if I’m up to it. You know I love Pat, but I don’t think I currently have the emotional energy to pretend my mother was a saint whilst he feeds me endless bread. I hate turning down shifts, too.”